Pleasure in Pain
by sleep-shy
Summary: A brief (attempted) Joker characterisation.


Pleasure in Pain

It was there the infamous Joker sat; gripping his deep purple cane embellished with fine gold. A fitting colour scheme for the self-proclaimed King of Gotham, so heartlessly devoted to destruction, no matter the cost. His ghostly face was devoid of its usual neurotic Cheshire grin, and his ruby red lips couldn't be compared in likeness to anything other than the blood that was likely to be spilled that night. His jaw was set hard, tighter than steel cable, and he gazed lazily around the room before rolling his head back on the base of his neck; the muted cracking of bones making those in the room cringe. Despite how masterful the Joker was at suppressing outward emotion, the sinister glint in his cold eyes could never be hidden. His loyal henchmen shifted uneasily on either side of him; the tension in the air was almost tangible, intertwined with the unmistakable presence of concealed fury bubbling ominously beneath the surface of his calm exterior. Nobody even dared to breathe. Oh yes, he was angry. So very angry.

And when the King became angry, somebody died. That much was certain.

This was nothing new nor unexpected, for the Joker went through lackeys as gleefully as a child would go through an assortment of candy. His sadistic tendencies were foul, especially when his unhinged reasoning for cold-blooded murder amounted to nothing more than simple _boredom_. His selfish nature coupled with his broken mind often had disastrous consequences; always leaving a trail of death and desecration in his wake. People were endlessly expendable to him, just the means to an end as far as he was concerned. Despite this, his charm, instability, and thirst for chaos drew those to him like moths to a flame. However, that being said, the lack of novelty did not prevent the exchange of frantic glances between the men as they noticed the Joker slowly reaching into the inner pockets of his expensive jacket. He relished in the terror-stricken expressions that followed, and he almost grinned. Almost. But his self control was of iron strength. Not only that, but any amusement he felt at that moment was largely undermined by his masked rage. Albeit it did not take a considerable amount of effort to send the Joker reeling into a frenzied bout of fury, those that knew him well -and more importantly, knew what signs to look for- were aware that a contained madness such as this was far, far worse than any fleeting temper tantrum.

"We're all going to partake in a little game, gentlemen," The Joker began slowly. Those in the room watched with bated breath as his hand slowly withdrew into the light. There was an almost audible sigh of relief from the men as he produced nothing but a Cuban cigar. But their reassurance was about to be terribly short-lived. "A little birdie brought the beginnings of a nasty revolt to my attention…Happening right under my nose. One of my own, passing on information to the other side. And one of you, in this room, is going to own up to it."

Silence. This did nothing to sate his terribly fury; in fact, it only amplified it. The Joker was never to be ignored; when he said something, he expected to be answered. They all knew this, and he considered them as nothing more than idiotic fools who simply did not know how to play the game. Being a businessman of the Joker's calibre meant relying on fear and manipulation, but sometimes they made it too easy. It was almost laughable. He twitched ever so slightly as his agitation heightened.

The Joker began his masquerade and feigned disappointment, shaking his head with a few sharp clicks of his wicked tongue. He continued, loosening the tie which wrapped around his neck like a silken snake, "Boys, boys, boys…Talk to me. You really should, you know, whilst you're able to. Trying to get an answer out of ya is like pulling teeth…And I really, _really,_ don't want it to come to that," Except he really _did_. He bared his silver teeth in a disturbing grin which sent visible shivers down the spines of those watching. "But if needs must, I will. After all, I'm a man of simple pleasures."

As if to reinforce his words, a pair of steel pliers was taken from the depths of his jacket. The previous sense of reassurance that the cigar had provided evaporated. He admired them for a moment, turning the tool around deftly in his bejeweled hands which was followed by a cruel smile. The goons at least knew better than to assume that the darkened slivers of red which desecrated the tip of the pliers were just the result of rusting. The Joker savoured the prospect of inflicting gruesome harm, and silently willed someone to step out of line. He needed to express his rage. The very thought of it was _divine,_ so much so that it caused him to lick his lower lip with a slick tongue.

"I'll make it simple; either one of you comes forward, or all of you get a bullet right between the eyes. I've lost a lot of money over the past few weeks, fellas. I don't mind losing a few men to make up for that." He paused for a moment to let it sink in, before continuing with a lazy smile. "I like to think I'm dedicated to the cause of the greater good."

The silence that enveloped the room was suffocating. All of the eight henchmen in the room stood like statues, afraid that any word would be their last. Although the Joker was quite pleased to strike such fear in the hearts of men, this did nothing to ease his agitation. One of them finally stepped forward, his footfalls slicing through the stillness like a butcher's knife. This time, the Joker truly did look disappointed as he placed the pliers delicately on the table before him.

The actions of this particular subordinate could either be described as gallant, or painfully foolish. He was broad-shouldered with a strong stance, but if looked upon closely, his limbs could be seen to be trembling. Although nobody could blame him, nobody could certainly feel sorry for him. After all, he had provided the rest of them with blissful relief from the burning stare of their boss, as well as the painful interrogation. The Joker did not bother to spare him a glance, sitting with his legs spread wide in a dominant manner. His hands were clasped beneath his chin as his eyes fluttered closed.

"Speak. You have ten seconds to tell me something useful. You understand, I'm not feeling particularly patient today."

The goon swallowed and nodded obediently. His words were rushed, and he stumbled over them. "S-sir, I can promise you now that what you've heard is no doubt a fallacy. Everything is in order and as it should be; my records are up to date. Business over the last few weeks has gone according to plan, I can assure you. I don't doubt the loyalty of a single man in this building. Sir."

If the Joker had heard what the lackey had said, he certainly made no indication of it. He waited a few more moments to speak, still maintaining his serene expression. The calm before the storm.

"Is that so..." He mused.

The henchman nodded vigorously, before realising the Joker still sat with his eyes closed. He cleared his throat nervously, yet with a hopeful gleam in his eyes, wondering if he had convinced his boss and tamed the beast, thereby saving his own skin. He spoke with slightly renewed confidence:

"Y-yes sir, I swear on my own mother's grave. We couldn't have hoped for a better outcome; our client is more than willing-"

"Now, now, now...That _is_ strange." The Joker murmured thoughtfully as his eyes flitted open.

"...Sir?" The man questioned anxiously.

"Our client is dead." The Joker spoke in a voice which chilled his men to the very marrow of their bones. He ignored their slack jaws and continued, "Our client is dead, and I have a cache of illegal weapons with no buyer. Business is bad, fellas. _Real_ bad. And it's about to get a whole lot worse for _you_ if our little saboteur isn't found and brought to me for a chat. As for you-" He raised index finger to point at the subordinate that stood before him, "-You're not doing a whole lot to reassure me, playboy. Either you're _horribly_ misinformed, or you're covering up for somebody. And I know exactly what I'm more inclined to believe."

Panic flooded the eyes of the henchman, no doubt realising that his exchange with the King of Gotham had reduced his life expectancy to a few mere minutes. And that was if he was lucky.

"S-sir," He sputtered, "You can't seriously be- I would never, you gotta believe me, Boss. I-I'm loyal, I swear-"

The Joker held up a hand for silence. Nobody dared to speak, or even breathe, as he placed his cigar between his lips. One of his men hastily stepped forward with a lighter which ignited after a few frantic flicks. The Joker watched as the flame licked around the tip of his cigar, the fire reflecting in the cool hue of his eyes, not a trace of emotion evident. No sympathy, no empathy…no mercy. Nothing. The man in front of him shifted uneasily, no doubt regretting his sorry existence.

Suddenly, and without warning, the Joker's gaze flicked to the goon that had spoken. The intensity of his unblinking stare was like a slap to the face, and the recipient noticeably flinched. The Joker gestured for him to come closer, but he hesitated. The Joker sighed and waved his hand. Two other henchmen stepped forward to grab him roughly by the shoulders, shoving him unceremoniously down to his knees. Tears began to form in the corner of his eyes as he knew there was no coming back from this. The Joker's tie suddenly seemed reminiscent of a noose. He leaned forward and grabbed the kneeling man by the chin, his iridescent rings digging painfully into his skin, causing him to wince. The goon instinctively attempted to free himself, but the Joker grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in close. So close that the Joker could see the tiny rivulets of sweat sliding down his face, mingled with his pitiful tears.

"Ah, ah, ah…" The Joker chided with an amused raise of his eyebrows. "Not so fast, hotshot. Why do you beg like a guilty man, hmm? Seems _awfully_ suspicious to me." He dragged his hand from the back of the goon's neck to his cheek, which he massaged roughly. "You've been a bad boy… A very bad boy, I can tell. And if you want to keep that pretty little head on your shoulders, I suggest you give me some real answers."

"S-sir, I swear, I don't know anything. Please, God-"

The Joker cut him off with a sharp slap to the face which echoed like the crack of a whip and made everyone in the room jump. "You know what I hate, more than anything?" No answer. "Come on, come on, don't be shy…What do I hate?" The Joker goaded with the impatience of a spoiled child.

The goon shook his head vigorously, too scared to speak. The Joker tutted mockingly and sat back with a tilt of his head, as if thoughtfully considering something. He heaved a dramatic sigh with a roll of his eyes.

"Alright, seeing as you refuse to play along. I'll tell you." The Joker's hand quickly shot forward, gripping the goon's chin with crushing force. His voice dropped to a low, threatening growl. He turned the man's head so he could lean forward and whisper in his ear.

"…Liars." He snarled.

The man's eyes widened at the rage in his voice which had been so expertly concealed up until this point. He opened his mouth to beg, or plead, but no words came out. They would have fallen on deaf ears; he was a dead man walking, and he could hardly expect his co-workers to come to his aid. The hand which held the Joker's seemingly forgotten cigar flashed into his peripheral vision and sank the burning tip into the soft flesh of the man's neck before he had the chance to react. The resulting sizzle elicited an unsettling, wide-eyed burst of manic laughter from the Joker, who simply pressed harder as a strangled scream split the air.

The other henchmen pretended not to hear.

The Joker was relentless, more holes peppering the poor man's neck with swift strikes, each one deeper than the last, screams and gleeful giggles mingling together in a disturbing cacophony. By this point, his body was shaking with ugly sobs and unintelligible pleads as he frantically gripped the bottom of the Joker's slacks. The Joker noticed this with a deep frown, and grabbed a fistful of the goon's hair, yanking his head back only to slam it mercilessly down on the surface of the table. Teeth broke with a sickening crack and blood spurted from his nose as the Joker pulled him back up.

"We're just getting started, handsome." He flashed a cruel smile, reaching for the pliers. The goon's eyes flooded with wild panic, and he began to scramble backwards, his hands slipping on his own crimson blood. One of the henchmen, without being told, delivered a solid kick to his jaw which produced a sudden snap as his heavy boot connected with the bone. He howled in pain, forced onto his back where he lay choking and gurgling, spatters of red dotting the Joker's slacks as he straddled his chest to keep him locked in place. The man trembled as the Joker trailed the cool metal down his face and neck, which brought shameful relief to the burning holes decorating his throat.

"P-please..." He whispered as his lips quivered.

"You're boring me with all that begging, playboy. You're only going to get yourself hurt." The Joker purred, gripping the man's chin once again. This time, however, he forced his mouth open and began to reach in with the pliers. The lackey began to thrash like a fish out of water beneath him, and the Joker could almost smell the terror that radiated off him. His irritation began to spike again. Why did they always insist on making things difficult?


End file.
